


Hard Landings.

by Vander38



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24339121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vander38/pseuds/Vander38
Summary: You know how Varric is a liar? Well this is the real events of the mission Alone.Spoilers ahead.
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke
Kudos: 20





	Hard Landings.

Prompt 2 Something Varric lied about, exaggerated or omitted from his stories about Hawke or the Inquisitor.

Hard Landings

How alone really went.

It’s amazing just how many meetings I have with people at the Hanged Man.

It’s almost as if there was no other place that a meeting can be had.

Anyway the night wind closes around us in a shroud of gloom as we all head towards the flickering light of the cheap fat burners by the door of the pub, casting grotesque shadows as the hanging effigy swings in the wind to and fro.

“You trust me right Fenris?” I say before we enter, trying to keep my voice even.

“Hawke, the number of people I trust can be counted on one hand with fingers to spare.” Fenris replies, it’s funny, even bitter his voice is as rich as honey and silky smooth and just a truly wonderful sight to hear.

You know what I mean.

“That’s not a yes.” I say pedantically.

“It’s not a no neither.” He replies in a deadpan voice.

“Fenris, no matter what happens, just trust me.” I say urgently.

“I can’t make promises I can’t keep, but I’ll try.” He replies in similar tones.

“Close enough I guess.” I say to myself then push open the stiff, squeaky doors, deliberately unoiled to provide maximum drama to any entrance.

The Hanged Man is not a glamorous local, even empty as now it stinks of old booze, stale food, half dried vomit and blood (3 stars in the visit Kirkwall pamphlet.) and the figures inside strike a tremendous contrast.

A few are the heavies, the typical mould of bodyguard that can be found by the bushel across Thedas, though these wear finer armour and carry better weapons than most.

It is the figure seated at the table in the centre of the room that is the biggest contrast with the grubby surrounds though.

Tall, slim and dignified, his robes are a rich black, with red mantling about the shoulders and more red on the skirts about his legs, there is a large staff leaning on the table next to him, close enough to be useful but out of reach so as to be polite. He is not a young man it is clear but neither does he appear to be decrepit, though his beard and close cut hair is greying.

He rises politely as we enter and offers me a deep bow in the fashion of Tevinter.

“You must be the Champion.” He states in a rich, educated voice, in the accent of Tevinter.

I can feel Fenris stir beside me, his anger burning so clearly that you can feel it a few paces away.

“And you must be Danarius, Fenris has spoken of you.” I say, putting an emphasis on my Ferelden accent and deliberately butchering the pronunciation of his name as done by every hick in all of Thedas.

He sits back down and invites me to do the same so I do, trying to relax into the chair, one of those special chairs that can take any weight of a person upon it but when swung into a mook it will shatter like stunt plywood.

“Perhaps a drink before we get to the purpose of this interview?” He invites in the manner of Tevinter gentlemen.

“Oh cheers I’ll not say no to a pint.” I reply in a cheerful voice.

The barman quickly paces over with a mug of the local brown beer, all river water and rat piss and a single solitary molecule of actual alcohol, crying tears of loneliness. The only way you can actually get drunk with it is if you are a really good actor.

For Danarius however there is a fancy glass snifter of rich brandy, one of those ones that look vaguely alchemical.

“To you and your family.” He says politely with a small toast.

“And you mate.” I say raising my own mug, it has a smiling elf face carved into it.

“Well to business then, you have in your possession some property that belongs to me.” He says with a slight frown and flicker of distaste as I gulp down the beer noisily.

“I never nicked anything of yours.” I say, spilling beer as I talk before swallowing.

“I never meant to intimate that you stole anything of mine, however the fact remains that you do have my property in your possession.” He states.

“Possession is nine tenths of the law mate, just ask anybody.” I say easily.

I can hear Aveline behind me roll her eyes.

Again.

“Be that as it may, a gentleman would act as gentlemen are expected to and would return such property to the satisfaction of all involved.” He says, still polite.

“A trade eh? So what you got for what you want.” I say placing the mug down, carefully showing him the other side of the face, still an elf carving but of a different body part.

“I see the way of things Hawke, I appeal to your honour and you play the brigand, if I had come to offer payment you would have appealed to gentry and dignity and I have neither the time nor stomach for such games, you will return my property before this day is done.” Danarius says showing teeth for the first time.

The air seems to crackle around him, subtle shimmers that show how a mage is twisting the air around him to use it.

You have to have Templar training or be attuned to magic to feel it.

For Merrill and I it feels like needles prickling at bare skin and tastes like metal and it takes everything I have not grit my teeth.

Fenris is not a mage but he knows that feeling all too well and he twitches in discomfort.

Aveline is neither a mage nor a Templar but she has been around me long enough to know when a mage is preparing to fight and in an unobtrusive way she looks hard at each of the heavies and calculates, her hand drops casually to the sword strapped to her belt.

“Woah easy mate, we’re all friends here, what is it that you think I have?” I say in a conciliatory way.

“You have an elf named Leto in your ownership.” He says mildly, a satisfied look on his face as he sees that I am placating him.

“I don’t own people nor do I know anybody by that name, you have the wrong Hawke.” I say with a laugh.

“Then do explain why he sits next to you.” Danarius replies.

I look over to Fenris who looks shocked rather than angry to hear his birth name.

“Fenris?” I say and he doesn’t respond.

“Ah I see the way of it, you did know exactly what you possessed, no matter the boy is mine by law and if you must be compensated in order to do the honourable thing I shall give you fifty shillings for him.” Danarius says with a satisfied twist to his voice.

And a hint of something chilling and deeper and just a suggestion that we will take his offer or suffer for it.

“I’m not for sale.” Fenris screams, the first time he had spoken since entering the building.

“500.” I say cutting through the tense silence that followed his outburst.

There is a soft gasp from Merrill.

“You’re not serious, are you Hawke?” Aveline says from behind, dragging at my shoulder.

Fenris says nothing, his eyes locked on my face, his mouth open, as if his brain cannot process what I just said.

“500?” Danarius says in a thoughtful way.

“Well he is precious to you and he’s learned a few tricks since you lost him, so 500 is the price I will accept.” I say, trying to ignore the comments from behind, Avelines cursing, Merrills pleading and Fenris just staring in shock, too shocked to be angry.

“500 is too much for the boy, I shall offer 200.” He states.

“450.” I counter.

“300 hundred or I shall take him by force.” Danarius counters, his heavies standing from where they had been sitting or leaning.

“You would have every thug, guard and Templar in Kirkwall coming for you if you did, 350 shillings and your hat and you can take him.” I say.

There is a pause then Danarius sighs and removes his hat and lays it on the table in a fastidious way then from a pouch on his belt he pulls out a large purse.

“Three hundred and fifty shillings and one hat.” He states flatly then rises.

I stand as well and weigh the pouch in hand with a smile.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” I say as I turn.

My eyes meet Fenris, still staring, unseeing in disbelief.

“Well Fenris.” I say flatly.

“Get him.” I add, turning quickly and throwing the heavy purse.

It hits Danarius hard in the face and he staggers, I follow it up by flipping the table onto him.

The heavies move with a roar and they draw their weapons, one flies back when my thrown chair shatters on his chest.

Aveline is a whirlwind of action, a one woman shield wall that leaves two dead before they know what happened and even Merrill sends rock and ice flying.

I send a fireball towards another heavy, unfocused from my bare hands but he falls away, desperately rolling in a futile attempt to put out the lethal blue fire.

“Hawke!” A shout from Aveline and I turn to the door to see Fenris chasing Danarius out into the streets.

“I’ll go high you go low!” I call out, taking the stairs two at a time then leaping through a cheap glass window, one of those special ones that break into lots of tiny pieces that fall harmlessly away rather than big sharp shards that slice skin like a hot knife through ice cream.

I run along the rooftops, dogging chimneys and pigeon nests, slipping on bird shit as I follow the streets below.

Danarius had a head start and Fenris is falling behind and I am running out of roof so I quickly calculate my options.

I take the edge at a flying leap.

Now in the rules of narrative convention when the hero takes a leap off of a high place onto the escaping villain they do not miss and no matter the height neither the villain nor the hero suffer major injury and the hero then says something cool.

Just dropping by or some such witticism.

Unfortunately in real life distance judging is difficult at the best of times, let alone from different heights and speeds.

And gravity truly is a heartless bitch.

The ground rushes up to meet me, or rather more accurately I rush down to meet it in a truly spectacular belly flop.

I land heavily, all the air driven out of me in a pathetic whimper, lances of pain shooting through me from, well, all of me.

Another rule of narrative convention is that the hero will ignore any injury until they get their quarry and then only show their pain to the person tending to their wounds.

That is definitely not true.

I start to push myself up off of the stone when Danarius’s steel capped boot kicks me hard in the ribs as he trips over me.

I go down and decide to stay down.

There is a rush of air as Fenris jumps over me and he catches the sprawling magister and grabs him, hauling him upright, punching heavily.

“I am no one's property.” He roars, spit flying from his mouth and then there is a wet crunch and a squelch as Fenris drives one last punch into the chest.

Red sprays in a horrible torrent as the heart is punched out of the back and Danarius lets out a hideous rattle before slumping down with a wet thump.

Fenris stands over the body for a moment then lets out an animal roar of rage.

The moment passes and I try to rise but that animal part of the brain that actually listens to the body decides otherwise and so I just roll onto my back.

There are steps as Fenris walks over to me, one hand drips pulped flesh and blood and the other holds a large knife, there is hate burning in his green eyes as he glares down at me.

“Explain!” He does not raise his voice, which makes it far more effective, there is no emotion to play off, just cold promise.

“How powerful am I?” I ask with a groan.

He thinks for a moment, comparing what he knows of me to what he knows of mages.

“Very powerful but untrained.” He concedes.

“And how powerful was he?” I ask.

“Very and extremely well trained.” He says in flat anger as he starts to process things.

“And if we had gone in with weapons drawn what would have happened?” I ask.

“We would have been killed very quickly.” He says, starting to calm down as he realises.

“I needed him to know we weren’t a threat, I needed him to underestimate us and not realise we were a threat until we had the advantage.” I say as I attempt to sit up but there is loud warning from my ribs suggesting that is a bad idea so I stop.

“So you played up the hick.” He states.

“I exploited his prejudices.” I say gently.

“And you didn’t explain it to us because?” He asks.

“I needed a genuine reaction, I needed him to believe that it was true, we aren’t actors Fenris, no way we could pull that off without it being actually real.” I say.

He sighs heavily then sheaths the knife.

“I’m sorry Fenris.” I say feelingly.

“Yeah I know.” He says dismissively, then he sits next to me.

“You know you are laying in dog shit don’t you?” He says after a moment.

“So that's why the landing was so soft.” I deadpan, sometimes all you can do is be sarcastic.

He looks over to the corpse in its gore ruined finery, even now with the body still warm there are local vagrants assessing the value of clothing and boots.

Makes me proud of the town I call home.

“Now what?” He asks, almost to himself.

“You're a free man now Fenris, free to choose, free to live, free to win and free to fail, without orders, without direction or guidance except from yourself.” I say philosophically.

“And how does one guide oneself?” He asks in a soft voice.

“If you ever figure that out Fenris then you will have beaten us all.” I say lightly.

His face shows many emotions, relief, rage, joy and sadness. He looks lost.

“It, I, It’s funny, I guess, I always hated him and always will, but he was always there, I was never alone and now?” He says in soft bitterness.

“Not if you don’t want to be.” I say gently.

“Hawke.” He says looking down at me.

“I know Fenris, and I won’t push you into anything at all, just know that, well, if ever you need a home, my doors are always open for you.” I say gently.

“I’m sorry I left that night.” He says softly.

“You have nothing to apologize for Fenris.” I reply.

There is a rush of footsteps as Aveline and Merrill finally catch up.

“Are you alright?” Aveline asks, getting a nod from Fenris.

“You should try the ground, it’s lovely.” I deadpan in reply.

“You know you are laying in dog muck?” Merrill points out.

“Well all the cool kids are doing it.” I say and Fenris lets out a smile.

It’s small and uncertain but it’s there.

I think he’ll be okay.

Okay folks, hope you enjoyed. Please feel to leave any feedback.


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